Edge of the blade

Life hurts, and life has damaged him but his cries were too silent, he “shhhed” himself every day, he didn’t allowed the tears to flow, “I need to me strong”, “I’m going to pass this, I’m going to to be better”.

Even if he tried no tears would roll down, nothing left to cry, all dried up,  he searched for friends, but they all hid far away, too far to either reach or be reached, it was difficult, but day after day he managed to get up, later and later but got up, each breath hurts, he lived behind masks, so many, so many layers that it was nearly impossible to reach the core, to reach the real him. Who was he? The strong guy, the caring brother, the punk head goofball, the fat nerd, probably none, certainly all of them, at least to some extend.

But all this heighten in his soul, in his mind. And bit by bit a war was unleashed, he was lost within, struggling to find himself, to find his core, to take of the mask, at least for him to see himself. Sonner then later he found relief in the edge of a blade…and pain left him, at least momentarily.

One slash, he din’t felt alone, another slash, he didn’t felt confused, yet another -now blood came pouring from the first ones-, he turned on some music….how did this felt so good?… two strikes in a row, followed by a strike in the place where one had hit, problems, disappeared slash by slash. Blood dripped, coating his thighs with a dark red gleam, so beautifully shiny as painful.

Somehow physical pain was bearable, nothing comparing to what he felt inside, even when screaming silently, not to be caught, not tho be heard, even if dizzy from the slashes, even with everything that slashing your own leg with a razor brogth he felt in peace, he felt calm, the storm was gone….for now.

a week passed and the scares healed, but somehow, the pain returned, and slowly and slowly everything piled up again, only this time was worse , Christmas was just around the corner, and Christmas….was painful, Christmas was…sad. And so once more he locked himself in the bathroom, and punished his skin, striped his legs, more then before, but now pain was… bigger both body soul and mind where scared, and slashing brogth some relief, but also pain, shame….his palms where dyed in a crimson brownish color, and a iron y smell filled the room, again it was as hurting as pleasurable, somehow a type of peace was found, but this time with shame

He still lives, he might punish his skin for what the world makes him feel, he might still punish the skin for the mistakes I make, these slashes are the translation between soul and mind to the flesh, but make no mistake i Have no intention of dying…i know i will survive…


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